Save Me (And I Will Save You)
By Myriddin
Chapter Four: Wintry Kisses
King's Landing, 2008
"On a scale of one to ten, how much do you miss me?"
Jon grinned at the voice greeting him on the other end of the line. He hummed softly under his breath, his voice underlain with mock indecision. "I dunno, Freckles. Somewhere in the negatives, I think."
"Jon!" she exclaimed indignantly. His smile grew into a full-blown grin at the sound, and he wasn't able to hold back a chuckle. "You jerk," she huffed.
"Brat."
She giggled. "Are you just going to keep arguing, or do you want to know how much I miss you?"
Jon's mirth immediately melted away. "You miss me?" he asked incredulously, unable to stop his voice from cracking at the last word.
"Of course." There was a pause, and then her voice returned laced with genuine confusion, "Did you think I wouldn't?"
He hesitated. "I...I wasn't sure, with everything that happened with us last time..." he trailed off, not eager to relive the details by voicing them.
She sighed softly, responding with a tender reassurance. "Jon. We both know we need to talk. I love you too much to let this keep going."
Jon smiled. "I know that, I do. I'm just feel...I don't know, insecure or something."
"You really shouldn't," she lightly chided, "Not with us."
"Not with us," he confirmed, "And for the record, I love you too."
"Always picking the right moment to all soft and sweet, Snow."
"Only for you. I do have a reputation to upkeep."
He looked up at the sharp rapping that came at the door to the cramped office he was sitting in. Recognizing the figures on the other side of the glass, Jon waved them. Following instructions, Samwell Tarly, Grenn Stanley, and Pypar Altin piled into the tiny room.
Jon sighed regretfully. "I hate to cut this short, Freckles, but the guys are here. We're supposed to have dinner."
"Alright, if you have to. Talk to you soon?"
"Definitely. I'll be seeing you soon, remember?"
"How could I forget? Trust me, I've been looking forward to that for months." Her words near the end were spoken quietly, shy and soft with affection. Jon smiled, and though he never would admit such an unmanly thing aloud, in that instant, his heart warmed and surely melted at the endearment of her feelings.
"Me too…" He closed his eyes, envisioning her in his mind, and ached to have her there. But he would, soon. He just had to have patience. Patience was something he had been lacking for the past year of their estrangement, but with the promise of Sansa coming back into his life, it was a virtue he could quickly put into practice again.
They shared goodbyes and another promise that they would talk soon. As Jon clicked off his cellphone and turned his head, he found his friends staring at him, Sam looking confused, Grenn and Pyp grinning. Pyp arched his eyebrows suggestively and nudged the stocky man beside him. "Someone's been holding out on us, Grenn."
Grenn's sly smile cut strangely through his thick facial hair. "Aye, I think you're right."
Pyp nodded with false solemnity, making a show out of tapping a finger against his chin in thought. "It would take a special something to make our serious Lord Snow smile like that."
"Or someone."
Jon kept his face decisively neutral, making a show of solely focusing on pulling on his winter gear. Sam glanced bemusedly the three of them, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Right...um...was that Sansa you were talking to, Jon?"
There was a prolonged moment of heavy silence in the room as they all processed the words. With his back to his friends, Jon sighed, returning to tying the scarf around his neck even as he felt the realization set in for Grenn and Pyp.
Grenn scratched at his beard, tilting his head toward Jon thoughtfully. "That's the girl you told us about, right? The night we finally managed to get you plastered."
Jon winced with embarrassment, at his vague memories of that night. He had landed a much coveted position as the TA to Professor Jeor Mormont, and the others had insisted they celebrate. Jon had been on cloud nine, and therefore too distracted to keep himself in check with the crowd plying him with drinks. According to Sam, he ended up spilling most of the sordid details about his history with Sansa when the four of them returned to Jon's apartment later.
Still not meeting anyone's eyes as he grabbed his keys and began hustling the other men out of the office, he only offered a simple nod in reply.
"That's all you're going to say?" Pyp teased as Jon shut off the light and locked up the room, "The object of all your angst and longing, all the hemming and hawing, calls you, and all you can do is nod and sigh?"
Jon rolled his eyes. "You're being a little overdramatic, don't you think?"
Grenn snorted. "You didn't hear yourself that night, Snow."
Jon's cheeks burned.
"Pack it in, guys," Sam chided, "Let's just go grab something to eat. I'm sure we've all had long days."
Successfully distracted, Pyp agreed with an exaggeratedly pained moan. "Tell me about it. I've been running lines all day with my co-lead's understudy's understudy. This thing's a disaster waiting to happen."
The others made vague sounds of sympathy as they walked out into the brisk air of the late winter afternoon. "So your spring play's been decided?" Jon asked.
"Wroth of the Dragonlords. The producer has a thing for Phario Forel."
Jon noticed the discomforted face Sam made at the mention of the play. "First years still not showing any enthusiasm for the Rhonyar, Sam?"
"No," Sam replied morosely. Jon could empathize. As a teaching assistant, it wasn't as though he dreaded first-year classes, it was more a matter of struggling to create any interest in students only taking the class as a requirement or something to fill in their elective credits.
Jon patted his shoulder sympathetically. "There's a reason why the professors get to teach the upper levels, and they leave the others to us poor grad students."
"Hear, hear," Grenn grunted. Jon smirked at that, knowing the older man was thinking of the constant repairs he made to the machines whose maintenance was Grenn's responsibility, perpetuated by amateur engineering students.
Sam had been the first of the trio Jon befriended after moving to King's Landing to do his graduate studies. They were part of the same program, focused on ancient Westerosi history, and though they had gotten along working together as teaching assistants, it was after Jon had learned of Sam's background that they truly began to bond. Or, it may be more accurate to say, it was only then that Jon allowed himself to open up to his new friend. They were both outcasts of the blue blood elite, Jon illegitimate, Sam disinherited, and it was only right that the friends they attracted after were misfits as well.
Sam had helped the drama department with accurate costuming for a historical play they had done, and it was through that project that he met Pyp, an eccentric but talented mummer who had been practically raised in theatre.
The old building where the history offices were located at a year ago, before they had finally been moved, had faulty heating, and constantly staying late working had led to Jon making daily conversation with the maintenance man, Grenn. Grenn was a few years their senior, a hardworking blue-collar man with a talent for machinery that had earned him scholarship money to take engineering classes at the university he worked for.
Everyone was introduced to everyone else, and the rest was history. Jon treasured the camaraderie, enjoyed the other men's good humors and natures, appreciated the comfort and advice of confidantes when life began stressful. Especially for subjects like Sansa, one he hadn't acknowledged he needed to talk about until that night he drunkenly confessed. He was still shocked his friends understood as much as they did, considering the situation still confused Jon and he was one half of the relationship.
"So how is she?"
Jon blinked as Grenn's question caught him off-guard, pulling him from his thoughts. "Who?"
Pyp rolled his eyes. "Who else? Your Sansa."
"She's not my Sansa. And she's fine. She seems to be enjoying herself."
"And you?" Sam asked, giving him a wry glance. "How are you dealing with her all the way in the Vale?"
"Yeah, it's still pretty rough on you having her so far away, isn't it?"
"And wasn't earlier the first time you've talked in months?"
"Guys." Jon appreciated the concern. He really did. But he was hungry, tired, and starting to feel cornered more than anything.
The others shared a look, and decided to change directions. "Is she still coming here first when winter break starts?" Sam asked breezily.
As expected, Jon's expression visibly brightened. "Yep. She's flying in on Friday."
"You've been giddy at the prospect for weeks," Pyp slyly commented.
Jon arched an eyebrow as they finally came to the restaurant. "Giddy?" he scoffed, holding the door open from the others.
"Alright, maybe not giddy. You brood too much to get giddy. But still," Pyp stopped in the doorway, dramatically placed a hand over his heart and rested the other one against Jon's shoulder, "In the name of friendship, our brotherhood-"
"I wouldn't claim you as family even if we were blood-related," Jon replied dryly. Sam watched with no small amount of amusement and Grenn ignored them all as he approached the hostess.
"Shut up. I'm trying to make a point here."
"Alright, alright."
"As I was saying, I'm personally glad to see you with a little happy in your life. I was honestly starting to think you weren't actually capable of smiling."
Jon only rolled his eyes in reply.
Winterfell, 1999
He remembers their first kiss.
It had snowed that day, heavily, the first real snow of the season, and Sansa had been in a tizzy of excitement. Jon would remember clearly just how bright her eyes were, how pretty her face with the excited animation of an anticipating smile.
He remembered the two of them being caught and scolded by Uncle Ned just before they ran out together through the front door, made to dress in coat and hats and gloves before going out into the snowfall. Sansa had been jittery, agitatedly impatient as she waited for him to finish the buttons on his coat, grabbing his hand and tugging him along behind her as they raced out the door.
The snow had covered the ground in a sea of pure, breathtaking white. He had watched Sansa dancing under the slow fall of fat snowflakes, her fiery hair whirling around her, and he was struck speechless by the sight. He had watched the glow of excitement she held, the enraptured expression, the pure joy softening her eyes, and he was awed.
She had tugged at his hand, pulling him with her into the strange, spinning dance. It had been a strange feeling, a feeling of freedom, a sensation of flying as he whirled around with his arms around her, elation filling him.
He did not remember who had lost their balance, but they were so tightly wrapped around one another that gravity took its toll, sent them both plummeting toward the ground. He had managed to cushion her fall, landing on his back with a distinct plopping sound, Sansa landing hard against his chest a second later.
Steadying her hands against his shoulders, she had leaned up, paused, and stared down at him with an unreadable expression. He remembers to this day the sudden tightening in his chest, the painful catch to his breath.
As she studied him, whether she was conscious of it or not, she had begun to lean forward, and suddenly all of his senses were overwhelmed, by large blue eyes, by the rosy blush painting her cheeks, by the warm breath mingling in the cold air between them.
She had come so close, her lashes brushed against his skin with a feather-light touch, a butterfly kiss, and then her lips had softly brushed against his, a real kiss.
The fragile moment was shattered a moment later, as a shout came from the house, Uncle Ned calling them in for lunch, and Sansa had sprang away from him, looking terrified, and raced back toward the house.
He remembered lying motionless in the snow, his mind racing, staring unseeing at the skies above and left wondering.
He had been thirteen, Sansa ten, and it was the end of their childhood friendship. They may have drifted apart after elementary, but they had been friendly then, and it was that day that ended any sort of familiarity between the. At least, until Sansa's teenage years, when tension had built between them and then exploded spectacularly.
He recognized all too well that they had fallen into old patterns of behavior, and to avoid repeating years of estrangement, something had to change.
He couldn't lose her again.
